


stuck in the middle with you

by casualbird



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, Idiots in Love, No Sex, No Spoilers, Nonbinary Character, Other, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sexy Mishaps, Strap-Ons, Trans Male Character, more physical comedy than i think i've ever written before, sex comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24632992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: Caspar has a fabulous surprise in store for Linhardt.It doesn't go quite as planned.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	stuck in the middle with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hardkourparcore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardkourparcore/gifts).



> caspar is trans and lin is nb in this fic, but this fic doesn't have any description whatsoever of their whole. you know. dick situations.

“Okay, Linny!” Caspar barks, his mouth running as per usual at ramming speed, “okay, okay, okay! I know I said you had to wait until Sunday for your surprise—”

“But you can’t,” Linhardt deadpans, smiling sly.

Caspar’s nod comes so quickly that Linhardt starts groping through their mind for whatever it was one was supposed to do about whiplash. “Not in a million years!”

“Caspar, it’s Tuesday.” Not that this is news. Caspar has been dreadful about keeping secrets since they were small, when he pitched a fit until the house staff agreed to throw Linhardt’s surprise birthday party three weeks early. Perhaps it’d been vexing, once, but it’s … comforting, to see that this at least would never change. Linhardt sighs, dog-ears the page in their book. When they rise from their chair, Caspar’s grin is bright enough to read by.

It’s not even an entire instant before they’re up in Caspar’s arms, their skirt billowing over his shoulder like a bridal gown, streaking as he frankly sprints from the library. “Come on!” Caspar goads, as if Linhardt has any other choice. As if there’s anything on earth they’d rather be doing.

The journey passes almost frighteningly quickly—but ‘almost’ is the operative word. Even as Caspar stampedes down the stairs, even as he body-slams the bedroom door open, Linhardt knows he’d never drop them.

And then interrogates just why it is that they’re so certain of that, and then has to stop, because Caspar is dumping them onto the mattress, diving to lie beside them and kiss their face until long flyaway hairs stick to his lips.

“You ‘member a couple weeks ago,” Caspar insists, and Linhardt would say something dry if they’d had even the slightest resemblance of an opening, “when we were. Yanno.“

His cheeks are spring pink, even though he barely broke a sweat on the way down. So yes, Linhardt remembers. Given the war on, given their exhaustion, spastic schedules, it’s not terribly often that they get to… _you know._ (Though it certainly isn’t for lack of trying.)

Caspar waits for just the overture of Linhardt’s nod before barreling on—“Y’said you wanted me to. Uh, um. You know, really uh—fuck your brains out?”

There’s no stifling their laughter then, not for either of them. Sweet Caspar, with no compunction about absolutely anything they do in their boudoir (such as it is) so long as he doesn’t have to _talk_ about it. But he does, anyway, because it’s his stupid valor that Linhardt loves.

“I believe,” says Linhardt, “that my exact words were that I wished you to ‘ravish me until I am forced to spend the next entire day bedridden.’“ A flutter of the eyelashes, then—Caspar flusters beautifully.

“Y-yeah, well—I figured it out! Looklook _look!”_

He dives under the bed, then, so impetuous and sudden that Linhardt has to look away, but he’s fine because he always is. There’s a discreet little box in his hand, tied in twine, and he loosens it before shoving the thing into Linhardt’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” he pants, “I was gonna wrap it.”

“Caspar,” drawls Linhardt, dry as old parchment, “I really could not give less of a—sweet mother of _Seiros_ would you look at that.”

It’s—well, it’s a devil of a lot of leather, scattered with burnished buckles and o-rings that catch the low sunlight. In the center, though, like a damn egg in a nest, is the most enticing cock Linhardt has ever seen. And they’ll admit they haven’t seen so many, but it’s—sort of a stocky shape, and lacquered vivid blue. They lift it out, heft it in their hand, and it’s _heavy._ Substantial, to be sure—they wonder what it’s made of, and then they don’t, because they’re overtaken with wondering what the weight, the breadth of it will feel like dragging deep inside.

They stammer, a little, which makes Caspar beam with the vanishing rarity of it, and in the next instant they’re lounging back against the pillows, skirt hiked about their waist.

“You like it!” Caspar exults, and Linhardt knows that the dormitory walls aren’t especially thick, and decides very firmly that they do not care.

Linhardt’s only response is an absent nod, being that they are rather busy shuffling with the buttons to their breeches.

When they look up, Caspar’s got the harness out of the box, is turning it over in his hands to try and figure which way is exactly _up._

“Pretty fair number of straps,” Linhardt muses, and Caspar nods in that way of his again, as if it’s the most urgent thing in the world.

“Like my old grappler outfit!” He shakes it out a little, for Emphasis, and the hardware clinks together brightly. “I was all about that!”

A little purr of approval. “You did look rather… tempting, I will say. When I wasn’t busy worrying you were going to end up sliced to—I’d best not finish that thought, hmm?”

Caspar chooses that moment to pounce, to smother himself against Linhardt’s slender neck as if he can suck unwelcome thoughts out, kiss them away.

“Yeah,” he huffs, breath tickling wet skin, “yeah, we got more important things to do.”

He spends another moment neglecting those things completely, spending his time in pursuit of the little noises Linhardt makes when their hair is gathered from their face, when calloused hands paw sweetly at their thighs.

“Caspar,” they choke, after a half a dozen or so little love bites have left them quite impatient, “Caspar, I can’t believe _I_ have to tell _you_ to hurry up…”

And Caspar laughs against their hip, then, but complies anyway. That’s another thing that makes the fool so irresistible—ending the war and Great Justice aside, it’s the man’s dearest ambition to give Linhardt anything they want.

“‘Kay!” He hustles away, half-stumbling off the bed, tearing at his clothes like he can’t decide what has to go first. Like his shirt’s held up a market stall, but his pants are shaking down scrawny old men in the alleys.

Linhardt bids him not to hurt himself, but it’s lost in a yelp, a clamor as Caspar tumbles to the ground, nearly tearing the coverlet off the bed.

He pops up like a daffodil, though, and by the look of his grin he’s not missing any teeth. “Can’t keep a good boy down!” he proclaims, posing to showcase his physique, the scars on his chest front and center. Linhardt throws their breeches at him, and Caspar laughs through the mouthful of linen it gets him.

“If I have to heal you” Linhardt drones, “before you manage to ravage me with a specimen like _that…”_ they say, and their voice would sound terribly unimpressed to anyone not in on the joke. “I will be supremely put out.”

Caspar snorts, hucking the last of his clothes in the general direction of the hamper. It’s going to be a terrible pain picking them all up later, but it’s not as if Linhardt plans on being fit to stand at that juncture. “Gotcha!” He snatches the harness up off the bed, starts fumbling precious eager with its buckles. “Don’t worry, baby! I’ll come save you in a—in a jiffy!”

A jiffy passes. Caspar has not yet managed to figure out where his leg is supposed to go in. It’s like watching him brawl—all the quick, jerky motions, the fervid grunts of effort. Linhardt envisions themself as they do during all Caspar’s scrapes: with a little pennant, cheering him on from a safe distance.

Another jiffy. It’s an entertaining display; Linhardt doesn’t mind. It gives them that _feeling_ again, the one that used to annoy them so terribly—amusement, _be_ musement, all drenched in a warm, smothering love. 

Still. The straps are somehow _all_ twisted, and the largest o-ring—Linhardt surmises it’s meant to hold Caspar’s cock in place—is lashed firmly to the point of Caspar’s hip. When Caspar looks up, as if to make sure Linhardt hasn’t gotten bored (how could they ever?)—his brows are knit so tight they’re nearly touching.

“Do you need help, love?”

“Caspar never admits defeat!”

It’s another several jiffies before Caspar lifts his head again, and pouts, and admits defeat. He’s almost frustrated—Linhardt worries, but by the time they’ve dragged him back onto the bed, the best kind of heavy over their lithe frame, he’s laughing again, kissing and nipping at Linhardt’s ear like nothing’s happened.

“Alright, alright, let’s get this over with,” Linhardt breathes between terribly embarrassing giggles, nudging Caspar back so they can get a good look.

It’s not so bad, really—Caspar’s left leg is jammed through the wrong way, and somehow the planets have aligned precisely so there’s a twist in every strap. They stifle a snort in the safe harbor of Caspar’s shoulder, decide it would be too much effort to coax him into explaining just exactly _how_ he did this.

But it shouldn’t be too hard, they think, until an attempt at loosing one of the tight buckles snares the coarse hair on Caspar’s abdomen, has him _yowling._

Still. Linhardt is equal to this and many other tasks—they sigh, and burn a heal spell just to get him to stop cussing in their ear, and carry on. And if their hands aren’t quite so dextrous… well, even though the situation could not be less arousing, they are half-naked, with Caspar squirming in their lap, and it’s an enticing concept until Seiros _damn it,_ how are Caspar’s legs _stuck together?_

(They’d be lying if they said they hadn’t envisioned something in that sphere before, but not exactly like this.)

Clearly. Clearly twenty-odd years spent stuffed up a library’s ass wasn’t enough. Clearly there were still new arcane mysteries to be probed, uncharted expanses of sinister magicks. Perhaps if they’d only studied a little longer, put in a little more _elbow grease…_

Nah, that couldn’t be it. It was horseshit anyway, though.

“Caspar,” they manage, shaking with the kind of silent laughter one can only access when they’ve been utterly thwarted. “My fingers are getting tired, and I think—” a gulping, searching breath—“I think it’s cutting off circulation to your fucking, ugh, glorious thighs.”

Fool that he was, Caspar had been snickering away through the entire fiasco, if interspersed with hissed curses, grunts of effort. Perhaps on another day he might have dug his heels in, might have set his jaw and plowed on until it really wasn’t fun any longer, but today he just collapsed, and while Linhardt had rather looked forward to lying in a sweaty heap with the love of their life, they hadn’t imagined it quite like this.

Which didn’t mean they _cared,_ mind.

It took a long time before Caspar could stop thrashing, gather his mind and breath enough to speak.

“Should I jus’… go down on you, then?”

“…Much obliged.”

They’d figure it out eventually. So long as they don’t end up having to cut the blamed thing off.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! this was kind of an experiment for me, in that i don't write a whole lot of humor that's as.... slapstick as this, and also in that i wanted to write a piece that was about sex, but still complete without having any actual sex in it.
> 
> also, this is my first time writing lin with they/them pronouns, and i think i fixed all the places where i accidentally used he/him, but if i missed one i'm really sorry!
> 
> title is from every romantic comedy ever made
> 
> please let me know what you thought of this little lark of mine, and don't hesitate to hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) if you like!
> 
> thanks again, have a lovely day! :^>


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